


In this narrow cell

by Frenchsoda



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And then the smut got out of control, Bees Schnees, Bees Schnees Week (RWBY), F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It was supposed to be pure fluff, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchsoda/pseuds/Frenchsoda
Summary: Weiss breaks the silence with a weary sigh. “I can’t believe I’m spending a whole night in jail.”“Then let’s not,” Yang offers, sitting straight on her bench.“What?”“Let’s not spend the night in jail. Let’s make it into something else.”Both Blake and Weiss stare at her with intrigued eyes—so piercing, so bright, gold and ice shining under a fierce sun—and Yang clears her throat.“We can call this—” she gestures in the air, “—whatever we want. Not jail time. Just—I don’t know. Date night.”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Weiss Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 31
Kudos: 245





	In this narrow cell

**Author's Note:**

> Bees Schnees Week - Day 7: Date night

Yang unabashedly stares at the brunette across the holding cell. She’s gorgeous, with her feline features, her dark long hair, her dark clothes and her dark glares. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, legs tucked against her chest and arms wrapped around her knees, looking so fragile and yet so dangerous, so calm and yet so irritated. Her face expresses nothing, but her eyes—gold, fierce, breathtaking—flash violent thunderbolts every time a police officer passes in front of the cell.

Yang has been here for only a few minutes, and yet she already finds herself drawn to this mysterious girl. What is she doing here? She looks so out of place in this cold and bland jail.

Before she can think of a way to approach her, a high-pitched voice drags her attention away.

“This is ridiculous!”

Yang’s stare travels beyond the cell’s bars and falls on a small white-haired girl crushed between two large men in uniform.

“I didn’t do anything!” the new girl shrieks, and when one of the officers opens the cell’s door and grabs her arm to push her in, she snaps it off with an indignant scoff. “Do you _mind_?”

Then, chin high and lips so pinched they’re barely visible, she walks into the room with as much presence as a queen would have during her coronation day. The door grates and loudly closes, and the girl angrily drops on the bench in front of Yang, arms crossed against her chest, face pale and eyes cold—two splinters of ice tearing through everything they meet, and soon enough they meet Yang’s.

And they lacerate her, ripping her apart with an intensity Yang didn’t think could exist in this world. This girl, this small, slender, delicate girl, is a white wolf capable of enduring the roughest winters, and Yang can’t even begin to imagine the reason why she’d get locked up here, at 10 pm on a Wednesday night, alongside Yang and a brooding brunette.

Silence lingers, thick and deafening, and Yang fidgets on her bench. Her eyes dart from the dark-haired girl to the white-haired girl, from gold to ice, from disinterest to undisguised contempt. She’s intimidated by the both of them and, really, that says it all. Because Yang doesn’t get intimidated. Ever. She rides heavy motorcycles, practices three different martial arts and never shies away from a fight or a smile. But here, in this narrow cell, with these two very different girls bearing the same dangerous aura, Yang feels uneasy. Curious, excited, and a bit scared.

“So,” she begins in a raspy breath, because she can’t stay silent much longer, “why are you here?”

She’s looking at the brunette, who raises an aloof eyebrow before gratifying Yang with a laconic answer. “I punched a politician.”

“Oh.” Yang gapes for a split second, before turning towards the icy girl. Even her, all ferocious and untamed, looks somehow impressed. “And you?”

The white-haired girl sighs, and bitterness thickens her exhale. “My _dear_ father had me locked up for the night.”

“Sorry, what?” the brunette asks from the floor, surprise softening her features, and she’s so dazzling Yang’s heart skips a beat.

“I confronted him once too often, so he taught me a lesson.”

“Can he do that?” the brunette questions, a small frown on her beautiful face. “Did you do something illegal?”

The white-haired girl snorts. “I didn’t do anything other than talking, and yes, he can do that. He owns half of this town, police included.”

“What an asshole,” Yang growls before she can even restrain herself.

Thankfully, the small girl doesn’t seem offended. She nods, even, eyes shooting spears at her absent father.

“That’s an understatement,” she mumbles. She then points her chin at Yang, with so much grace the blonde’s mouth dries. “What about you? Why are _you_ here?”

Yang flushes. She really didn’t think this through, did she? “I’d rather not tell.”

“Oh, _that’s_ rich,” the small girl snarls. “So you get to know our story, but we’re not good enough to hear yours?”

“She got arrested for exhibitionism,” the brunette sighs. When she catches Yang’s incredulous stare, she just shrugs. “I heard the officers talking when they brought you in.”

“Did you _flash someone_?” the other girl almost yelps, eyes wide and stunned.

“No, god no! I was—My friend and I were… uh… being intimate in a car, and an officer happened to see us, that’s all.”

“And where’s your friend now?”

Yang turns to the dark-haired girl, whose voice sends shivers down her spine. Because it’s so—husky. Slinky. “She ran away.”

The icy girl scoffs. “What kind of friend is that?”

“Uh, a smart one?” Yang offers, and silence settles for a few seconds before the three of them laugh quietly.

And that, the laughing, suddenly changes everything.

“I’m Blake,” the brunette offers with a smile.

“Weiss.”

“Yang. Nice to meet you.”

“I’d rather have met you guys in other circumstances,” Weiss snickers. “But, well. Nothing we can do about it, right?”

Yang smiles. Unease still twists her stomach, but it’s starting to slowly fade away. She leans against the wall and lifts one foot on the bench, a lazy hand resting on her knee. “How long do you think they’ll hold us here?”

“Nobody seems to have pressed charges against any of us, so just one night,” Blake answers with her gravelly voice, and Yang’s heart tightens. When the brunette meets both of her cellmates’ questioning gazes, she shrugs. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

“You mean it’s not the first time you _punched a politician_?” Weiss’s tone holds no insolence, just a hint of admiration that drags a tiny smirk out of Yang.

“I mean it’s not the first time a politician preached racist statements in front of a large and suggestible crowd.”

“Oh.” Weiss raises an eyebrow. She carries a scar, a faint line falling straight under her left eye. It’s neat and thin, the kind of memory a knife would leave. “I should really introduce you to my father.”

Once more, the three of them chuckle. The air lightens and Yang starts to relax for the first time since that officer heavily knocked on her car window.

“Man,” she finally sighs, letting her head bump against the wall. “That’s not how I thought my night would go.”

“You’re telling me,” Weiss mutters.

Blake stretches, a knowing smile on her—gorgeous, inviting—lips. “I, for once, had a feeling I’d get in trouble.”

“You’re quite the dangerous activist, aren’t you?” Yang teases, and Blake’s smile grows. It’s kind, almost familiar, as if they were used to banter with each other under Weiss’s amused stare, as if the three of them had found their balance a long, long time ago.

Silence lingers once more, except this time it’s easy and calming. Weiss breaks it with a weary sigh. “I can’t believe I’m spending a whole night in jail.”

“Then let’s not,” Yang offers, sitting straight on her bench.

“What?”

“Let’s not spend the night in jail. Let’s make it into something else.”

Both Blake and Weiss stare at her with intrigued eyes—so piercing, so bright, gold and ice shining under a fierce sun—and Yang clears her throat.

“We can call this—” she gestures in the air, “—whatever we want. Not jail time. Just—I don’t know. Date night.”

Weiss snorts and Blake laughs softly.

“You sure know how to choose your dates’ locations,” Blake mocks, but it’s gentle, devoid of any form of spite, and it gives Yang confidence.

Because Blake didn’t say anything about the three of them being girls, or about the three of them being—well, three. And Weiss doesn’t seem to mind, considering the idea with serious eyes and smiling lips.

“Think about it,” Yang continues, heart beating a bit too fast for all of this to just be a casual joke. “It’s just the three of us, spending a whole night together, talking and getting to know each other. Like a really great date night that ends when we realize the sun already rose.”

She stares at Blake, feline, mysterious Blake, all detachment and tease and warm sensuality. She stares at Weiss, icy, noble Weiss, all presence and confidence and cold beauty. They are both so far away, so different, and yet they both make her feel the same way: craving for more.

“It _could_ be interesting,” Weiss carefully advances, slender fingers playing with the silky fabric of her light blue—elegant, suggestive enough—dress.

“It could be, yes,” Blake adds with her apparently trademarked tantalizing smile.

 _It will be_ , Yang thinks, but she doesn’t say it, not yet, because all of this feels unreal and yet too physical to be a dream. Instead, she leans forward and smiles at Blake, at Weiss, at the two ravishing girls who just accepted to be her dates for the night.

“It’s a date, then.”

*

It’s just as she said. They talk, and talk, and talk, and they don’t notice the time flying by until the sun shines brightly through the station’s windows and the officers turn off the lights. They spent hours chatting, only interrupted once by a policeman yelling “Hey, it’s not a summer camp here!” after they laughed too hard, resulting in Weiss striking him with a death glare, Blake muttering an insult only Yang heard and Yang just laughing at the scene, too content to be angry at anything. They learn everything about Weiss’s controlling, corrupted and manipulative father, about Blake’s battle for a fairer society, about Yang’s architecture firm already booming after only three years of existence.

By the end of the night, Yang knows Blake bites her lip when she’s amused but doesn’t want to show it, and Weiss’s eye rolls can mean anything from sheer scorn to unconcealed fondness. She knows Blake is feisty but likes to be bossed around, and Weiss is an organization freak that secretly wishes for chaos to quake her daily life. She knows that the three of them are single, but not for the same reasons; Weiss doesn’t believe in relationships, Blake has commitment issues, and Yang just never found the right person, or the right persons.

She knows she wants to see them again, and she knows she will.

When an officer lets them out and gives them back their belongings, in the early morning, the three of them walk out of the station with a smile on their faces. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like they just spent the night in prison.

Weiss yawns loudly and Yang finds it uncharacteristic and endearing, because Weiss is allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of Blake and her, as if they were old friends, a family she chose long ago and isn’t scared to lose anymore.

“Well,” she smiles, eyes darting back and forth from Blake to Yang, “I had a surprisingly great time.”

“Me too,” Blake chuckles, and there’s a wild flame dancing in her golden gaze, a hunger for _something more_ that sparks a ferocious fire in Yang’s lower stomach.

Because Yang tried to ignore Blake’s sultriness and Weiss’s majesty, she really did. She tried to ignore how she melted under those gold eyes, how they made her want to kiss a tender flesh, to tease slowly, to drag pleading whimpers between shaky breaths. And she tried to ignore how she burned under those icy eyes, how they made her want to bite an exposed neck, to bind wrists, to ignore empty threats thrown between helpless moans. She tried, and she failed.

“We should do it again,” Yang whispers.

“We should,” Blake murmurs back.

They both turn to Weiss, who remains silent, scrolling through her phone with an unreadable expression, until she lifts her bright blue gaze and smiles. “Next week, my house?”

*

It becomes a tradition. Every week, they meet for date night, just the three of them, and they alternate between Weiss’s house—or villa, she should say—, Blake’s loft and Yang’s apartment. Nobody else is allowed, even though over time they meet their respective friends and they all merge into a merry and disparate group of colorful people. But this, date night, is something for the three of them only.

They gather in the evening, order takeouts, watch crappy TV shows and talk endlessly until dawn drapes them with its gentle beams. It’s like any other slumber party between friends, really. Except they call it date night. Always. Except nobody else could participate, could fit in there, could find the tiniest place in this complex and yet instinctive balance they found since the moment they first talked to each other. Except there’s always a moment during the night when silence falls, and they share those looks, those meaningful, heated, hesitant looks, craving eyes saying _Will we?_ over and over again. But they never do.

*

(They don’t see each other _only_ during date nights, of course they don’t. At first, they sometimes hang out together. And as the weeks pass, sometimes turns to often, and often to always. It happens so naturally Yang doesn’t even notice the shift in her daily life, how, now, there’s not one day when she doesn’t see Blake, or Weiss, or the both of them.)

*

They’re all waiting for something, anything, to set _everything_ into motion, but it can’t happen naturally. Not when there are three of them, not when they could lose not one, but two persons, two friends, two pillars of their life. Because that’s what they are. At least to Yang. Blake and Weiss became, in the blink of an eye, two of the most important components of her existence, and she often wonders how she managed to function before them. She had Ruby, of course. She had her dad. She had a family, as crippled as it may be, and she always felt content with it. Now, she realizes what she was missing. This warmth, this understanding, this certainty that she would never be left alone, not because of blood but by choice, _other people’s_ choice. Because Blake and Weiss chose her, for who she was. They chose to let her in their life, to share their pain and their joys with her, to trust her, and it means everything to Yang.

And because of that, because this triangular friendship grew so much, so fast, Yang can’t bring herself to try anything, even though she craves for it.

*

(Four months after they spent that night in jail, Blake gets arrested once more. Yang is the first person she calls, knowing full well the blonde was hanging with Weiss. Within twenty minutes, Weiss bails her out and calls an army of lawyers—“Just in case,” she mumbles when she notices Yang’s smirk— and Yang hops on her motorcycle to pick up Blake from the police station.

When she sees the brunette standing out there, a hand gripped around her arm, a frown shading the gold of her eyes, Yang’s heart tightens. Blake looks so tired right now. So lonely.

“Hey gorgeous!” Yang welcomes her with a bright smile, because it’s all she can do right now, to wrap her in tenderness and positiveness. “Whom did you punch this time?”

She hands her a helmet and Blake grabs it with a smile—small, but genuine.

“I didn’t punch anyone. I just crossed a very thin line.”

A very thin line being, as Yang would later discover, the distance stipulated on the restraining order a very famous—and very racist and homophobic—CEO obtained against Blake months ago.

“Let’s go home,” Yang smiles kindly.

When she straddles her bike and Blake presses against her back, arms wound around Yang’s waist, the blonde forgets how to breathe. Blake is so _warm_. Her chest is so soft. And she’s so affectionate right now, hugging Yang as she would a lover.

Yang swallows, starts the engine, and tries her best to focus on the road.

At this point, home is everywhere the three of them can be alone together. So, when Yang drives Blake to Weiss’s house, the activist doesn’t even flinch in surprise. Weiss is waiting for them at the front door, worry sharpening her face, and she places two gentle hands on Blake’s cheeks when the brunette reaches her.

“Hey,” Weiss greets her softly.

“Hey,” Blake greets her back.

Yang watches them get lost in their own world, as they sometimes do when life gets too hard, when they need the other one to _be there_ , to care in silence, to just breathe at the same rhythm until the air doesn’t feel as asphyxiating anymore. Weiss softly brushes her thumb on Blake’s cheekbone, her other hand drifting in her dark hair, and it’s so tender, so right Yang melts a little at the sight.

“Come on,” Weiss finally murmurs. “We’ll take care of you tonight.”

And they do. Weiss orders sushi, Yang pours Blake a warm bath, they both listen to her as she breaks, because “there’s so much to do, and I can’t do it all, and I feel like I’m not changing anything, like I don’t matter, and I’m just so tired—”, they remind her everything she did and how wonderful of a human being she is, and they gently tuck her under the sheets when she falls on Weiss’s king-size bed, exhausted and maybe, finally, relaxed.

As they each lie beside her and watch her drift into sleep, they both caress Blake’s silky hair, and they both hold their breath when, from time to time, their fingers skim past each other, touch, tangle.

Yang looks at Weiss and Weiss looks at Yang, and they hold each other’s gaze for a very, very long time.)

*

The more Yang spends time with them, the more she wants them. She’s hungry for more, more smiles, more words, more touches, hungry for an intimacy friendship could never offer. She’s hungry for Blake, with whom she shares scalding, obvious gazes, Blake who doesn’t even hide her attraction for the both of them, always undressing them with her penetrating gold eyes, always making sure they _know_ how ready she is for all of this to happen. She’s hungry for Weiss, with whom electricity sparks every time their hands brush past each other, Weiss who always looks from afar, always displays an unwavering confidence, and yet sometimes shows a hint of doubt and desire in the deepness of her breathtaking eyes.

And she’s hungry for Weiss and Blake, together, always together, because this is how this works, this is the balance, a chemistry needing three and not two, an equation which would remain unresolved without one of them.

Yang is hungry, and she can’t do anything about it, only pray for a miracle to erase the last distance lingering between them, or, maybe, for that shred of courage they all desperately need.

*

(Nine months after they spent that night in jail, Yang gets an award. She didn’t even see it coming. Her employees submitted her work without telling her, and when she opened the letter from the academy, congratulating her for winning first place with the modern, environmental and intelligent design she created for the city’s new museum, she was so stunned she didn’t even register Weiss’s proud “It’s about time!” and Blake’s affectionate hug.

Now, two hours before the prize-giving ceremony begins, she’s so nervous she can barely dress herself, fumbling with the buttons of her impeccable white shirt and barely managing to fasten them.

“Would you stop that already?” Weiss scolds her with a light slap on her fidgeting hands. “You’re buttoning it up wrong. Here, let me do it for you.”

Yang can’t even protest. Her mind is set on the speech she’ll have to give in a couple of hours, on Blake’s fingers carefully running through her hair in order to style it into a crafted bun, on Weiss’s sharp intakes of breath when she unbuttons Yang’s shirt and when her gaze falls on her lacy black bra.

It takes her friends ten more minutes to make her fully presentable, ten minutes of flushes and shivers and silences filled with shaky breaths. They are so close Yang can’t discern where Blake’s warmth begins and where Weiss’s ends. In the mirror, Yang catches the brunette’s stare, looking directly into her eyes, gold _blazing_ with an intensity that immediately soaks Yang’s underwear. And in front of her, Weiss takes her sweet time, adjusting her shirt one button at a time, fingertips grazing Yang’s skin and setting it on fire, eyes full of awe and reverence and, fuck, _want_.

When they’re finally done, Blake slaps Yang’s ass with a playful smile, only stretching when the architect yelps in response. She presses two suggestive hands on her shoulders, looks at her in the mirror, and whispers in her ear, “There. You’re perfect.”

Weiss takes a step back to contemplate her work and nods. “Perfect indeed.”

It drives Yang crazy, how teasing and kind and sexy they are, but she can only rasp a hoarse “Thank you, guys,” in response.

“You got this,” Blake softens while rubbing her shoulders.

“You _deserve_ this,” Weiss adds with a fond smile that makes Yang’s legs quiver.

When she gets on that stage three hours later, heart beating in her throat, Yang immediately spots them in the crowd. They’re all anyone can see, really. So stunning, so ravishing, so shiny in their long and silky dresses, with their tantalizing and knowing smiles, with their proud and beaming eyes. And Yang regains confidence, so much confidence, because Blake and Weiss are the most beautiful and interesting women on this planet, and they are _hers_.)

*

It’s scary how well they work together. They never lose balance, always support one another with as much fondness and respect, and nobody is ever left behind. Unsurprisingly, the only thing they don’t talk about is their romantic life. Maybe one day, one of them will meet someone and everything will fall apart. Maybe one day, the three of them won’t be enough anymore, even though, right now, they are sometimes too much. Maybe one day, it will be too late for them.

Yang knows they can’t live like this forever. She wishes it would never change, and at the same time she doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to remain silent, to not tell them, kiss them, love them as loudly as she wishes she did. Her soul is yearning for their love, and her body for their touch.

Yang never did anything with anyone else since the night she got arrested, and it wasn’t because she lacked opportunities. She just knows it will never be enough, it will never satisfy her the way _they_ would, and whenever she takes some time for herself, in the intimacy of her dark room, she always pictures piercing blue eyes and a feline smile.

*

(Twelve months after they spent that night in jail, Yang and Weiss show up at Blake’s loft after work, for yet another traditional date night.

“Did you hear that?”

Weiss gets up, even though she just barely sat on the couch, and squints her eyes as if she was about to go on a hunt.

“Hear what?” Yang asks, setting her computer bag on the table while Blake uncaps three beers.

Weiss hushes her and Yang shares an amused look with Blake. They both hold their breath for a minute, mostly to please the white-haired girl and avoid yet another scolding glare, until a distant beep rings in the air and Weiss spins around, eyebrows comically twitching, eyes darting to the ceiling. “That!” she says, annoyed. “One of your smoke detectors is almost out of batteries.” She stands under the device set in the living room, frozen like an ice statue, and stares at the detector with so much discontent Yang pinches her lips to swallow her laugh. When the beep chimes once more, Weiss throws angry arms in the air and stomps towards the corridor with a frustrated “Dammit, it’s not this one.”

The second she disappears, Yang turns to Blake, who’s now lost in a helpless—and surprisingly silent—laughter.

“Okay, what did you do?” Yang whispers with a conspiratorial smirk.

“It started beeping just before you guys arrived, and I _knew_ it would drive her crazy.”

She’s interrupted by the short and muffled tone, and soon enough a raging Weiss hurtles into the room. “Did you hear it? I think it’s in here!”

“Weiss, just sit down, we’ll find it eventually,” Blake offers, voice too soft and smile too amused.

But Weiss doesn’t notice her friend’s mischief, too busy scrutinizing the ceiling in search of the culprit. The beep reaches their ears once more, impossible to locate, and Weiss dashes towards the entrance.

“Oh my god, where is it?!”

“Yeah, Blake,” Yang murmurs to her devious friend, “ _where_ is it?”

“In the fridge,” Blake chuckles, obviously proud of herself, and Yang snorts.

“You do know that she’ll kill you when she finds it.”

“Who do you think I am? I covered my ass!”

Blake stops for a second, relishing the view of Weiss dragging a chair through the living room while muttering threats to a non-existent enemy, before whispering in Yang’s ear, “I put it next to the cake.”

“The cake, what cake?” Yang splutters, because she has no idea of what Blake is talking about and, mostly, because the brunette’s breath skimming her ear awoke, once again, her everlasting desire. _God_ , Blake knows what she’s doing.

“The anniversary cake.”

“Oh my fucking god, where is this stupid thing!” Weiss shrieks when she hears the beep for the tenth time.

She jumps from the chair she was perched on and stomps towards the kitchen, completely ignoring Blake’s smirk and Yang’s gape.

“Anniversary?”

Did she forget? Is today Weiss’s birthday?

“Yeah, anniversary,” Blake repeats, and there’s a new softness in her voice that rockets Yang’s heart against her chest. “We all met exactly one year ago.”

Yang stares at Blake, dumbfounded, and a rush of affection flushes her cheeks and twists her stomach. How endearing can this woman be, really? How caring, how _perfect_ can she be?

“I’m going to kill someone!” Weiss blurts, dragging Yang’s gaze to her slender silhouette, and she’s so _passionate_ about everything, really, about her company, about Blake’s believes, about Yang’s success, about the fencing match she watched last night and couldn’t stop talking about in the car on their way to Blake’s loft, about a freaking smoke detector hidden in the fridge.

Yang’s heart blossoms, full of so much love she can barely hold it in. Blake takes her hand. It’s soft. Warm. Not enough. And Yang would kiss her, but she’s missing something, an infuriated something tramping through the loft and shooting daggers with its magnificent eyes.

“Happy anniversary, Yang.”

The blonde smiles. She’s too happy, too grateful to convey her emotions with words. So, she squeezes Blake’s hand instead, whispers “Happy anniversary, Blake,” and turns to Weiss.

“You should check the fridge.”

“The fr— _What_?” When Weiss opens the fridge, only to find the smoke detector, her ears turn red. “ _What the fuck_?”

It should be noted that Weiss’s fury only lasts a few seconds, before she notices the cake and completely deflates.

For this particular date night, they lie on fluffy blankets spread on the floor, eat chocolate cake and revive the memories of the very first night they spent together, in that cold jail that changed their life in an inconceivable way.)

*

“You’re a dumbass, you know that?”

Yang’s jaw drops and she stares at her sister, aghast.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a dumbass,” Ruby states once more without even a hint of apology in her tone. She casually sips her coffee, an eye on her phone to check her messages, the other on Yang to check her reaction. “Why don’t you just talk to them?” she finally sighs when she notices the outrage painted on Yang’s face. “You guys talk about _everything_ , that’s all you ever do, talk, talk, talk, so _why_ can’t you talk about the freaking elephant in the room?”

“It’s not that easy, Ruby,” Yang counters, unsettled by her sister’s frankness. “What if—”

“What if what?” Ruby cuts her, clearly annoyed, and it might be the first time she actually snaps at Yang. “It’s obvious you’re all into each other. Dammit, Yang, the first time you introduced me to Blake and Weiss, there was so much sexual tension between the three of you I thought you would just strip and fuck in the living room!”

“Hey, language!”

Ruby snorts. “No, no way. I’m 23 and you don’t get to talk to me like I’m a little kid when you’re the one acting like one. It’s so freaking _obvious_ , Yang. You three belong together, and you _want_ to belong together. Just talk to them, kiss them, write them a lovesong, I don’t care, but do something!”

Yang sights and rubs her temple. It’s not the first time she has this discussion with Ruby, but it’s the first time her little sister loses her temper. Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe she got tired of hearing Yang drawl over Blake and Weiss over and over again.

“It’s not only that,” she mumbles, heart in her throat as she’s trying to gather her thoughts, to convey her doubts and fears to her sister—to her best friend. “It’s not only about knowing that we want to be together. I mean, I—I know we want to.” She fidgets on her stool. Saying it out loud rasps her tongue. “What’s holding me—all of us, I think—is that I’m terrified it won’t go well. Because what if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if we realize that only two of us really fit together, and someone gets left behind? I can’t lose them, Ruby. Not Blake, not Weiss, not any of them.”

Ruby empties her cup of coffee, jumps from her stool and sets it in the sink. When she turns back, there’s softness in her eyes, the kind she only reserves for Yang, silver polished by affection, care, love. The kind that makes Yang think she’d do anything for her. All over again.

“Do you remember the first thing you told me when mom died?” Ruby asks, voice calm and unfaltering, and Yang’s heart sinks. “You told me it’s always the things we didn’t do that we regret the most. You didn’t tell her enough that you loved her, you didn’t help her enough, you didn’t spend enough time with her. You never regretted making her angry with your stupid messes, you never regretted blowing up the shed with the old fireworks you bought behind her back, you never regretted any of this. Just the things you didn’t do. Now, I want you to take that beautiful wisdom of yours and actually apply it to your fucking life.”

“Again, language,” Yang mutters, but she’s lacking conviction. Ruby’s words are hitting her straight to the soul. “What if—” Her voice breaks. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?”

The soft question makes her dizzy. Because, _what if it does work?_

“When did you get so wise?” Yang sighs, standing up and ruffling Ruby’s hair.

“I’ve always been the wisest,” her sister giggles. “Now get out, Jaune and Nora are picking me up in a few minutes. We’re going to the arcade to yell at some stupid kid who broke my record last week.”

“Oh, wow. You’re _definitely_ the wisest!”

Yang mocks but can’t help but hug her, hard enough Ruby would laugh, long enough she would protest after a while. When she leaves her sister’s house, her heart aches and her head spins. She looks at the sky, limpid blue like Weiss’s eyes, and feels the sun on her skin, burning like Blake’s gaze.

She made her decision. For better or worse.

*

It’s been fourteen months since they spent that night in jail. Fourteen months since their first “date night”. Fourteen months of trust, laugh, support and challenges. Fourteen months of pushing themselves to be better, for the other two, because of the other two. Fourteen months of being accepted for who they are, and not what they could be.

Fourteen months Yang fell in love with them.

When the door opens, she hears their soft voices before she sees them, and stress overtakes her thoughts. But it’s too late now. She has to see this through.

“—can’t believe you told him that. You’re in deep trouble, Belladonna!”

“Maybe, but it was worth i—” Blake halts mid-sentence, eyes darting from Yang’s hesitant gaze, Yang’s sharp suit, Yang’s fidgeting hands, to the dinner table, the candles, the bottle of wine already opened, the string lights hanging on the walls, around the counter, over the couch. “What’s this?” she murmurs, and she’s so stunned she barely notices Weiss helping her take off her jacket and setting it on the coat rack.

Weiss turns around and takes a step forward, cheeks slightly blushed under the dim lights. “Yang, what’s going on?”

“Date night,” Yang answers in a breath, and Blake and Weiss both freeze.

They’re starting to understand. Yang can see it in their eyes—the gold glimmering brighter, the ice piercing deeper—and she can’t give them any time to back out. Not now. Not anymore. So, she drags a chair away from the dinner table and shows it to Blake with a courteous hand. “I—um—I cooked salmon.” Blake’s favorite. Yang carefully pushes the chair as the brunette sits, hesitant and curious and not running away. “And profiteroles,” the blonde adds while she presents another seat to Weiss, who approaches like a cautious animal, eyes slightly squinted, and body tensed. “It might not be as good as the ones you had at the restaurant last time, though,” Yang murmurs to Weiss, who slowly sits, stuck in a guarded silence.

Yang is terrified, but she can’t let it show, and she can’t let it dictate her thoughts anymore. Brave, she grabs the bottle of whisky she set on the counter before her friends arrived and shows it to Weiss.

“I got you the brand you love.”

“You didn’t have to.” Uncertainty weakens Weiss’s voice. “It’s really expensive.”

“You’re always paying for our food, it’s the least I could do.”

Yang is too formal, she knows it. Too tensed, too polite, too careful. But she can’t help it. Stress clutches her throat, and she clings to what little she can, to decorum and rules that never truly applied to the three of them. She pours some whisky in Weiss’s glass, adds a few ice cubes and sets it in front of the white-haired girl, who’s now analyzing her with sharp eyes.

“And I got you wine,” Yang turns to Blake and takes the bottle on the table. “It’s a dry white wine, it should go well with the salmon. It’s from Provence, in France. I know you want to visit it someday.

Blake carefully holds her glass as Yang is filling it and, after a nerve-racking silence, she chuckles.

“If I had known, I would have brought you your favorite mango-spinach juice.”

“Once. I ordered it once! I just wanted to try!” Yang whines, tension already releasing her muscles.

“Oh come on, you knew it would be gross! You just wanted to make Weiss taste it so that you’d see her wince!”

“I did not!” Yang feigns outrage, and Blake laughs.

Weiss remains silent, a hand stuck on her glass, her face unusually pale. Everything in her attitude screams doubt and unease, and Yang sits on her chair, next to her, as Blake’s laugh dies between her lips.

“Yang, what’s all of this, really?” the brunette asks once more after throwing a concerned look at Weiss.

“You know what it is,” Yang sighs. “You both know. Let’s just stop pretending, please. For one night.”

Silence floods the room, mighty, crushing, and Yang has to summon all of her strength to finally, finally, part her lips and say what she has always wanted to say.

“I—”

“Yang, don’t.” Weiss clenches her glass and the ice cubes tint against each other. “Don’t say another word.”

The blue of her eyes turned to steel, cold, sharp, devoid of the hint of kindness that has always, always shined in their depths.

“Why?” Yang murmurs, throat clutched with fear, anxiety, regret.

“Because I don’t want to hear it. Any of it. Because you don’t get to decide when we do this, _if_ we do this. Because you don't get to suddenly change everything just because you feel like it.”

“Weiss, that’s unfair,” Blake steps in, not without gentleness, and slides a hand across the table to brush Weiss’s fingers.

“No, _you_ are unfair.” Weiss snaps her hand away, and the rough gesture sparks a pained glow in Blake’s eyes. But it doesn’t stop Weiss, it doesn’t soften her harsh tone and her cutting glare. “Both of you are. You can’t do that to me.”

“Weiss, we didn’t do anything,” Yang protests with a wavering voice.

Her world is falling apart, her worst fears are coming alive because she decided to go against her instinct and to _try_. And now, she’s losing Weiss, and she doesn’t even understand why.

“No, but you will.” Weiss suddenly stands up, bumping the table and setting all the glasses and bottles into an unsteady and noisy motion. “I already lost a family. I won’t stay here and let it happen again. I won’t. I can’t.”

Her voice breaks and she spins around, eager to turn away, eager to hide herself, but Yang already noticed the tears melting the ice of her eyes. Weiss dashes to the front door but Blake is faster than her, already on her feet and grabbing her by the wrist before the small girl can catch her purse and coat and leave the apartment—maybe for the last time.

“Weiss.” Blake’s tone is calm and confident, everything Yang isn’t right now. “You’re not going to lose us.”

“Of course I am!” Weiss snarls. “Fuck, Blake, look at you! Look at both of you! You're so—so— _Jesus_! I’m nothing compared to any of you!”

Those words, spat with so much distress and so much _certainty_ , shake Yang away from her lethargy. She stands and rushes to Weiss, shocked by the way her friend’s pride crumbled one word after the other, revealing so much _hurt_ , so much fear, so much suffering Yang never even suspected existed.

“Weiss, you’re everything,” she blurts, because she’s at a loss of words and this, _everything_ , might be the best way to describe the emotion overwhelming her right now.

“I’m the third wheel,” Weiss hisses. She ignores both Blake and Yang’s shocked expressions and continues, bitter. “Look at you, for fuck’s sake. You fit. You fit so well. It's obvious you're crazy for each other, it's obvious you're perfect for each other. It’s obvious it would end up that way, your way, because you’re meant to be together and I’m just—I’m just—” She gestures frantically, a tear rolling along her scar, and it shatters Yang’s heart to the point it physically aches. “If we do this, whatever the fuck this is, it will just be an excuse for you two to get together.” Weiss’s voice quavers but she keeps her chin high, holding onto the shreds of pride she has left, and the higher she lifts her face in a desperate attempt not to drown, the smaller she seems. “I won't stand for it. I won't sit there and let you use me because you don't have the courage to admit you fucking love each other! I'd rather leave, let you the intimacy you’ve been craving for months and stay your friend, than stay here and let you use me as a fucking catalyst to be ditched the second you don't need me anymore!”

“That’s not—”

“No, Yang. That’s _exactly_ what it is. I’m not stupid. And I have two functioning eyes. Do you think I didn’t notice the way you two look at each other? The way you whisper in each other’s ear, and giggle together, and _eye-fuck_ _each other_? Do you fucking think I’m that blind?”

It’s like a punch in Yang’s face. How could she not realize? How could she call herself Weiss’s friend, when she made her doubt and suffer and she never, not once, noticed it?

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two be.”

“Oh my fucking god, Weiss!” Blake snaps with an irritated eye roll. “I can’t believe how stupid you are.”

“ _I beg your pard_ —”

Blake suddenly grabs both her wrists and pushes her against the front door, and Weiss chokes on her last words.

“What—What are you doing?”

She’s breathless, eyes wide with utter confusion, body pressed between wood and flesh.

“I’m proving you _how stupid you are_ ,” Blake retorts. Her hands release Weiss’s wrists, dart to her belt, and hastily unbuckle it.

“I am not stu—oh, _fuck_.”

Weiss’s head slams against the door the moment Blake drops to her knees and roughly drags her linen pants down to her feet.

Yang can’t move. She’s petrified, unable to fully process everything that’s happening except for the wild lust suddenly soaring through her whole body. Because that, that sight of Blake _on her knees_ , of Weiss pinned against a door, of them together, fills her mind with the raging desire she always tried to repress, and can’t contain anymore.

Blake throws Weiss’s heels in a corner of the room, quickly followed by her pants, and when she slowly, provocatively stands up, sliding her body against Weiss’s, she turns around and spears Yang with a dangerous glare.

“I’m done waiting,” Blake states, voice deep and sultry and _Jesus fuck_. “For any of you.”

So, Yang takes a step forward, and another, and another. She notices how Weiss wound her arms around Blake’s waist, how her hands now roam on the brunette’s stomach, hips, thighs. She drowns in Blake’s luminous, eager eyes, loses her breath when the brunette parts her lips and lets out a shuddering gasp as Weiss unbuttons her jeans from behind. She shakes when she meets Weiss’s stare above Blake’s shoulder, so penetrating, so ferocious and _hungry_ , begging her to come closer, to prove her how stupid she’s been, to prove her how much Yang wants her, just as much as she wants Blake.

Yang halts an inch away from the brunette. She looks at her, eyes dropped on her luscious lips, and she hears Blake’s sharp intake of breath when she slides two steady hands on her waist and over Weiss’s soft fingers. She leans forward, heart slamming in her chest, lust dripping between her legs. Her fingers clasp Blake’s white shirt and, roughly, she spins her around and presses her body against her back. Blake moans, sound muffled against Weiss’s slender neck, and Yang slides a bold hand in her silky dark hair. Slowly, she clenches it and, slowly, she _pulls_ , drawing Blake’s head backward, exposing her pale throat, dragging a pleased moan out of her gorgeous lips. In front of her, Weiss’s eyes bulge, her breath quickens, her hands slide from Blake’s hips to Yang’s ass, and she roughly grabs the flesh, pulling the blonde impossibly closer, staring at her with awe and _need_ , before gazing at Blake with the same expression.

Yang gently bites Blake’s vulnerable throat, fingers still pulling her hair, before gliding her tongue from her neck to the tip of her ear.

“Kiss her,” she whispers, and that’s all Blake was waiting for, it seems, because as soon as the words skim past her, the brunette crashes a hungry mouth on Weiss's, who returns the kiss with as much fervor, moaning, groaning, whimpering, fingers digging in Yang’s ass while Yang feverishly slides her hands under Blake’s shirt. Fuck, she’s so _warm_. So slender. So hot. Jesus fuck.

“My turn,” she groans, unable to wait any longer.

She twirls Blake once again and clashes their lips together, and she sighs, she fucking sighs against this wet and swollen and devouring flesh, because she’s dreamt of it so many times without ever believing it would happen, because it’s so much more exciting that she thought it’d be, because it’s finally filling that void, that hole her desire has ferociously drilled over the past fourteen months.

Blake moans against her mouth, wraps her arms around her back and tugs her close, smashing her squirming body against Yang’s, before releasing her embrace and breaking their kiss. It leaves Yang wanting more, always more, and so she sidesteps, slides a revering hand on Weiss’s cheek, and looks at her. Weiss has always been breathtaking. Everything she is, everything she does is breathtaking. More than once, her resolve and her strength intimidated Yang, to the point that, sometimes, she’d feel like she didn’t deserve such a valiant friend. And now, now, Weiss is looking at her with so much eagerness, finally ready to take the next step, and once again it leaves Yang wanting more, _always more_.

“Kiss me,” she murmurs, because Weiss has to be the one to close that final gap. And when Weiss remains silent and still, eyes so dark there’s no ice left, Yang feels like she’s about to break with need. “ _Kiss me_ ,” she begs, and Weiss obeys.

It’s voracious, sharp teeth on her lips, precise tongue against her own. Where Blake kisses her recklessly and messily, Weiss kisses her with diligence, methodically exploring her, analyzing her every reaction for an even better use, one she’ll make later that night, when she’ll push Yang to her umpteenth orgasm. When they part, they’re both panting heavily, awestruck by the intensity of their embrace.

“Shit,” Blake whispers, and they both look at her with hazy eyes. “This is so. fucking. hot.”

“Room, now,” Weiss commands, too avid for full sentences.

The journey to the bed is chaotic, to say the least, as Blake pins Weiss against every wall she finds to hungrily kiss her again, as Weiss almost rips Yang’s every cloth in a frantic hurry to see her bare, as Yang grabs Blake and lifts her on the kitchen counter and nearly takes her there.

When they finally make it to the bed, they’re all bare except for their underwear, and _dear lord_ Yang is about to fuck the two sexiest women of this world. Weiss takes off Blake’s underwear and slides an eager hand between her legs, but the brunette catches her wrist, spins her around and holds her down against the mattress.

“No way,” Blake murmurs, a wicked smile on her rosy lips. “After everything you said earlier? You go first.”

“Fuck,” Weiss breathes. And when she sees Yang climbing on the bed with a very dangerous smile of her own, she hides her face between her hands and whimpers, “Oh, _fuck_.”

*

Yang can’t keep track of how many orgasms they gave each other. She should have known, really. She should have known that the sex would be mind-blowing. But who could have imagined this, that much pleasure, the way they all fit, the way the three of them always get something, all the time, whether it’s by giving, receiving or, sometimes, simply watching—and touching themselves, because, fuck, how can Yang not masturbate when she witnesses Blake violently ravishing Weiss, three fingers deep and dirty words spilling over and over again while Weiss keeps blurting out “Yes, fuck, Blake, harder, harder, harder—”?

Yang should have known, and now that she does, she’s never going back again. She’ll fuck those two wild girls for the rest of her life, and nobody can change her mind.

*

Blake and Weiss take her three times in a row. Fingers and mouths everywhere, between her legs, on her clit, on her breasts, her neck, her ears. They make her lose her mind, restlessly pounding her, slowly, roughly, stretching her pleasure as long as they can, building it as high as they can, making her come each time more violently, and Yang nearly blacks out when her third orgasm crushes everything within, when a sheer blast of pleasure quakes her whole body and blows away her every thought.

It takes Yang a while to recover, to remember who she is, where she is, and who just fucked her to oblivion. But when she does, oh, she’s dead set on revenge. While Blake and Weiss kiss each other, gently, fondly, obviously proud of their glorious teamwork, Yang slides her hand under the bed and drags the box she keeps hidden there. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Blake, who pulls away from Weiss and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“ _That_ ,” Yang replies with a predacious smile, “is payback.”

*

Yang knows exactly how she wants to get her revenge, and the two other girls don’t resist for long before giving her exactly that. Blake straddles her, a fierce glint in her eyes, ready to take up that new challenge, and Yang positions the strap-on under her. The brunette slowly settles down and takes it in, lips parting with pleasure, a quivering groan forming in her throat. She slides down, and down, and down, under Yang’s and Weiss’s lustful stares.

“Fuck,” Blake growls, shutting her eyes.

She begins rocking her hips back and forth, slowly, adjusting to the new sensation, and Yang might as well lose her mind once again because this, Blake riding her and moaning and biting her lip and jerking her hips faster and faster, is the hottest thing she’s ever seen in her life. At least until she looks at Weiss, murmurs “Your turn”, and watches the white-haired girl straddle her too, except this time over her face. And Jesus, _fuck_ , Weiss is beautiful, drenched white hairs revealing a pink and swollen clit, wetness spread all over her thighs, memories of her last orgasm, of Yang taking her from behind while Blake was pressing Weiss’s head between her legs. “Don’t be shy,” Yang teases, and Weiss scoffs and shamelessly sits on her face.

And so, Yang fucks them both. She thrusts her hips as hard as she can, matching the hoarse moans escaping Blake’s mouth, and she wraps her tongue around Weiss’s clit and sucks it thoroughly, relishing her faint taste, one hand clutching Weiss’s ass, the other griping Blake’s thigh.

Weiss comes first, with a forceful shudder and a long whimper, fingers grasping Yang’s head, body arched against her mouth. She collapses on the bed next to them, and suddenly Blake is all Yang can see—Yang, still moaning because of how strong Weiss’s orgasm felt, because of the thick wetness that suddenly gushed all over her chin. And, _fuck_ , Blake is riding her hard and fast, moaning and cursing and pushing the dildo as deep as she can, as roughly as she can, until she gives a few final thrusts, vigorous and violent, and breaks in Yang’s arms with a trembling cry.

They lie there for ages, spent and delighted, until someone—Blake, maybe Weiss—lazily moves and the three of them end up curled up against each other, Yang in the middle.

She’s never been this happy. And it’s not just because of the—astounding, intoxicating—sex. It’s because of that. Them, stroking each other’s hair and brushing each other’s arms with wonder, after fourteen months of want and doubt and hesitation.

“Okay,” Weiss murmurs, a finger gently drawing Blake’s jawline. “You guys made your point. I might have acted in a very… irrational manner, earlier.”

“Hmmm,” Blake hums and nuzzles Yang’s neck. “Just admit that you were being stupid.”

“I—”, Weiss stops and Yang looks at her under heavy lids. “I love you.” Both Yang and Blake straighten up at the barely audible whisper, incredulous, and Weiss takes a deep breath. “I love you,” she repeats, voice stronger, steadier. “Both of you.”

“I love you too,” Blake murmurs, tender eyes gliding from Weiss to Yang. “Both of you.”

They stare at the blonde with certain and impatient eyes, and Yang shrugs. “I’m still figuring this out.”

Blake snorts and Weiss slaps her shoulder with a well-deserved “Jerk.”

Yang laughs and tugs the both of them against her. “Of course I love you, you idiots.”

“You’re _so_ romantic,” Weiss mutters.

“And you’re so _sappy_.”

“You take that back, Yang Xiao Long!”

“Guys!” Blake chuckles.

She points at the window; dawn breaks into the room, gentle, the first of many, many others. Yang hugs Weiss and Blake tighter, blissful, and she closes her eyes with a content sigh. “Now, _that’s_ what I call a nice date night.”

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be a smooth ride. And then, smut happened. 
> 
> .
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr (sodalayt) if you want to chat with me or yell at me ;)


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